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Chapter 8

:-(

and i love you, too

:-)

"Seriously, Luke, who are you texting that makes you smile so much?"

I looked up at the green-haired boy, and I realized I was very much smiling. My cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much. I tried to put on a serious face, but it was no use. Calum makes me too happy.

"Is it a girl?" Michael asked excitedly, sitting next to me quickly. He rested his palms on his face, and it made him look like a little kid. "Wait, never mind. Forgive me for thinking that. That was very heteronormative, especially coming from me. You could also swing my way. Do you swing that way, Lucas? DO YOU WANT THE D?"

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, and I tried my best to seem confident.

"I want both the D and the V, thank you very much."

Michael laughed. "Okay, but seriously, who is it?"

I paused for a second, thinking of what to answer with. What was Calum to me? He was someone I met. He was someone that I could relate to. He understands me like no other person on the planet. Do I like Calum? Yeah, he's my friend. Do I have a crush on Calum? I don't think so. Well, he's really attractive. He's got that jawline, those cheekbones, his pretty brown eyes, his sleek hair, and—okay, maybe I do have the tiniest crush on Calum.

"My best friend," I answered. But I maybekindasorta wish he was my boyfriend.

"Oh," Michael said. He smiled at me. "Well, you know what they say, Mr. I-Have-My-Headphones-On-All-The-Fucking-Time: your best friend understands you inside and out; they're there for you no matter what. That pretty much explains why Ashton's my best friend."

"He's also your boyfr—"

"And he's also my boyfriend!" Michael exclaimed. "Funny how things turn out, huh?"

"How did you and Ashton become an item, anyway?" I asked.

Michael gave me a dreamy smile. "That, my friend, is a story for another time. The bell's about to ring. I'll see you in science class, Hemmo."

"See you then, Cliffo."

The bell rang, and then Michael and I went our separate ways.

✘✘✘

It wasn't until now that I realized how many classes I have with Ashton. He was in my math class, history class, and English class. Ashton had a different period for science, and his elective was film whereas I was in the yearbook committee. He was also in my homeroom. So when Michael wasn't talking to me, he sat on Ashton's lap. Whether they simply talked, joked around, or made out the entire time varied, but I wasn't one to judge their lack of schedule.

The good thing about being in the marching band was that we didn't practice all the time. Of course, I would always try to practice at school, but today was not one of those days. Ashton, however, had cross country fifth period (which was my period marching band) because he was a dweeb and didn't want to take his two years of PE in the first two years of school. When neither of us were practicing, we would sit together on the bleachers, him in his horrid, sweat PE clothes, and me with my band shoes and my soprano saxophone on my lap.

"I wish Michael had his free period in fifth," he groaned.

I laughed, scrolling through my phone and trying to message Calum. He seemed to be busy at the moment.

"Why is that?" I asked. I knew the answer, but I noticed Ashton liked to talk, so I gave him the opportunity.

"Well, he's my boyfriend, you dolt."

"That, yes," I said, absentmindedly skipping songs on my phone, "and you want to have sex with him anywhere possible in the school."

Ashton suddenly sat up, and I gave myself a face-palm. "T-that was a j-joke!" I exclaimed, trying to stop the curly-haired boy. "P-please don't—"

"CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!" Ashton shouted.

"Oh, no," I murmured to myself.

"Thanks for the idea, Lucas," Ashton snickered. I finally decided to listen to Canals as Ashton went back to his previous position. He rested his head on my lap like he did before, and he stayed together in silence. I started to play with his hair, twirling it around with my fingers.

"You need a haircut," I told him.

"No I don't!" he exclaimed. "I'll have you know that Michael really likes my hair."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course.

"Are you really sure?"

"...Yes."

"Are you really, really sure?"

"...Yes?"

"Are you really, really, really sure?"

"I don't know!"

"Are you really, really, really, really sure?"

"I don't think so..."

"ARE YOU SUUUUURE?"

"NO, I'M NOT SURE!"

"Well, Michael really likes your hair, man."

Ashton froze for a while, and he looked up so that he was staring at me. "What was the point of all that?" he exclaimed.

"I like to fuck around with people's emotions."

"You're mean."

A small smile made its way to my lips, but it wasn't exactly a happy smile. It was bitter.

"I know," I told him.